


only if for a night

by virgovenus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (some) religious imagery and symbolism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Draco, Clubbing, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Pining, Possessive Sex, Rough Sex, Top Harry, draco is a tender boi, im sorry, its sad, they fuck against a wall and its great, this is just shameless smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25154665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virgovenus/pseuds/virgovenus
Summary: Harry and Draco have to stop meeting each other, it's fucked up. It's fucked them up already. But, they can't stop.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 293





	only if for a night

**Author's Note:**

> two idiots, pining, shameless smut and boom! here it is! kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. enjoy! :)

This was going to end in disaster. Harry was sure one day this whole thing was going to blow up in his face. But, fuck him if it didn’t feel good. Harry never felt like he was the best, he hated being called the Chosen One. He hated being called the Boy Who Lived. He hated the attention, the constant cameras, the papers, his job. He wanted normal, whatever that was. He found it wherever he could, whenever he could. 

He had his demons and he played with them. 

The doors to The Den were cracked and old. This was a notorious Muggle club, and Harry’s face, no one knew him here, no one cared that he liked cock. No one even acknowledged his presence. No one except one individual, the one person he’s been coming to meet every month for the past two years. 

The music was pulsating loudly making Harry's ears ring. People were hunched together under the darkness of the room, bodies were moving in sync with the music. Harry briskly walked past couples, he could make out the sweat that clung to their foreheads as they danced together. Harry’s heart went erratic. Forget the dance. It looked like fucking. 

He meandered his way through the crowd, took note of the two men grinding away at one another, fumbling with their pants, kissing each other as if their lives depended on it. This place was filthy, downright raunchy and every time he came, he felt like a randy teenager. But the sheer anticipation of what was to come fueled him like no other, pulled him from his core. 

Harry often lied to himself. He thought he was happy as Auror, happy with Ginny. But, he rarely felt this happiness. He rarely felt anything at all these days. The only time he truly felt life were during these meetings. And who was he to deny himself this pleasure? Clearing his head from the fog of dissatisfaction, he pushed between two people, finally reaching the bar. 

He noticed a particular blond head hunched over the bar, nursing two fingers of whiskey over ice. Draco was dressed to the nines. Not Malfoy anymore, it hadn’t been Malfoy for a long time. Harry's eyes slid over Draco’s body like oil over water. He was wearing skin tight leather trousers that accentuated the perfect globes of his arse and a sheer gossamer blouse that left nothing to the imagination. Harry licked his lips, swallowing thickly. He made his way to him, already feeling turned on, feeling the heady effects of being this close to him. 

He took a seat on the stool next to Draco. “A vodka gin, please.” he said to the barmaid. Draco’s head turned to look at him. Harry was watching him already. Draco’s eyes were lined with black, his shirt was halfway unbuttoned already. He was wearing several necklaces, and Harry could make out his pert nipples peeking out. His cock jumped in his jeans. No doubt, several other men were staring at Draco, how could they not? He was simply delectable.

“What’s a guy like you doing in a bar like this?” asked Harry, making the first move in the game they always played. The music was loud over his ears, fainter still than the beat of his heart. 

Draco grinned and leaned back, planting one long leg on Harry's stool, pushing himself closer. His golden hair was tumbled atop his head as if he’d just worked his long fingers through it. He put his hands on Harry’s chest and leaned in close. The red lights of the club glittered over Draco's cheekbone, highlighting the hints of glitter. His heavily ringed right hand worked its way to the back of Harry’s head. Harry's eyes softened as he caught the ring on Draco's ring finger — a lions head, with eyes of rubies. The only indication to the rest of the world of what they shared between each other, what this fire between them meant. Harry, too had his tell—an intricate tattoo over his ribcage, stars connected to one another in the shape of a never-setting dragon. 

Draco's fingers gently scratched over Harry's scalp. Oh. _Merlin._ Harry's body erupted in gooseflesh.

Harry swallowed against the torrent of heat down his body. Draco made things so very difficult for him, how could he ever turn away from this? “Exactly what you’re doing, Harry.” Draco said, his mouth touched Harry’s ear, his plump lips forming the words, “Waiting for someone to come fuck me _good._ ” 

_Fuck._ The way Draco said filthy words, like he didn’t know they’d make Harry crazy. His tongue dripped honey, making a shiver pass down Harry’s back. Harry growled low in his throat, wound his hands around Draco’s hips and pulled him closer until he was standing in the circle of Harry’s legs. 

“You know, Draco,” he began, voice ragged already. “You’re going to lose. I don’t know why you bother. They all know if they were to even lay a hand on you, they wouldn’t be here tomorrow.”

Draco’s hand gripped the hair at the back of Harry’s neck and pulled. Harry moaned low. “Why, Harry? What do you have that no one else does?” Harry’s hands trailed down to Draco’s arse, grabbing and kneading. Draco gasped hotly by his ear.

“You know what. This is a game you will lose.” said Harry, sternly, standing himself, pushing Draco against the wood of the bar. He leaned over him, flicking his eyes from Draco's gray ones to his lips coated in something shiny and pink. Draco’s hands touched Harry’s side, rubbing circles under his ribs. 

Draco looked at him defiantly, chin out. His body thrummed. Harry knew no one was looking their way, too lost in their own throes of passion. Harry craned his head closer until the two of them were a hairsbreadth apart. Draco’s face shuttered, slipping. Wanting. _Hungry._ Harry knew hunger, he looked at it in the mirror everyday. 

Harry bit his lip, Draco’s eyes followed it. His eyes darkened and when he closed them briefly. Enough. Harry went forward, crashing his mouth with Draco’s. _Merlin and Morgana, both._ It always felt like this. Electrifying. Glorious. Intense. Harry titled his head just right, pulling Draco up. He parted his lips expertly and Draco groaned, fisting his hands in Harry’s shirt. He pulled him impossibly closer, kissing him deeply. Draco's mouth tasted like alcohol and bitter coffee, his tongue mingled with Harry's and he felt desire pool low in his belly. Their tongues were dancing an ancient dance. It made Harry feel like he could conquer anything. Draco's kisses were like every winning duel Harry ever fought, like the first taste of treacle tart he ever had, like a shot of Felix Felicis. _Every single fucking time._ Euphoria flooded his veins. 

Minutes ticked by, the song changed.

Had it not been for the lack of oxygen, Harry wouldn't care if the world was burning down, he wouldn’t pull away. But it wasn’t and with the noises Draco was making were crumbling his resolve. He pulled away with a pop, a string of saliva fell out of their lips in front of them. Their hips were pressed close together, Draco could feel Harry’s hardness, with his pupils blown wide, he bucked up. Harry stopped him with hands on Draco's hip, pinning him down. “Let me take you home,” he said, breathless— “or I’m gonna fuck you right here.” 

Draco let out a wanton moan, he looked utterly ruined. Harry’s voice was low and full of promise when he added, “I— I want to hear you scream.” Draco’s hands tightened around Harry’s biceps, he nodded once. "Yes, Harry," his cheeks were painted with a pretty blush, his lips swollen and red. "Yes, home. Take me home." he said in a breathy, ragged voice. Harry pushed away from the counter, bringing Draco with him. He was frustrated and hard, desperate too. He could barely think straight, his blood had flooded south in a rush. He pushed his way through the crowd towards the exit, jaw set, clutching Draco’s hand. 

Fuck it all. If _this_ was damnation, Harry would gladly meet the devil in Hell.

They barely made it out the door before Harry had it and turned once more, devouring Draco in a kiss he was expecting. They welded themselves against each other, two lost boys. And Draco was dizzy with it, with the way Harry kissed. It was like he did everything else, with the intensity of catching the Snitch everytime, with an effortless confidence, with restless power and so much passion that Draco's mind simply went blank every time. No thoughts, no thinking, just feeling, just Harry. 

“Harry,” said Draco, voice silky. “I need—” he broke off, interrupted from the kisses Harry kept taking from him. He pressed himself closer until Harry could feel his need down to his bones. “Please,” he said, looking up from his lashes into Harry’s verdant eyes. “I want you so much, I— I’m prepared.” His voice cracked. Leaning in slightly to Harry’s ear. “You could slide right into me, baby.” he added.

Harry groaned, throwing his head back. _Fucking hell._ The veins in his neck popped, he gripped Draco harshly, burying his head in Draco's neck at once. With a flick of his wrist, he apparated them out of the alley with a crack.

* * *

They landed with a thud in the middle of an expensive Turkish rug. Draco barely had the time to take in Harry’s London apartment before he was being thoroughly stripped of his clothing. Their fingers fumbled with each other’s, trying to get buttons open. Frustrated, Harry ripped the sheer top off. It slid neatly off Draco’s shoulders and just as he was about to protest, he cut off when Harry leaned down to take a nipple into mouth, his hands working Draco’s pants loose as he trailed kisses down the middle of his chest that left Draco feeling unhinged and tingly. Draco touched Harry’s shoulder lightly. Harry wrenched himself away, yanking his t-shirt off his head, pushing his pants off angrily, understanding their unspoken language. He came back up to kiss Draco once more now that he was only in his pants.The kiss was filthy, Harry's tongue caressed Draco's, moans erupted in the air, Draco's frame was shaking steadily from anticipation flooding his body. Then, Harry's mouth found the side of Draco's neck, right between his shoulder where ink bloomed. Harry kissed his way up, sucking, biting lightly at the head of the serpent that curled up Draco's right arm onto his neck. Draco groaned, craned his neck back, baring his throat for Harry. The assault left a trail of red, tiny spots that looked like flowers from afar. He was marking Draco, claiming what was his without him knowing. 

They tumbled their way to Harry’s bedroom, a mess of limbs. Harry paused to open the door before closing it with his feet and pushing Draco up against the wall nearest them. The frames rattled, the room lit up with two sconces. Draco shivered, he always did when Harry did this— unknowingly using his wandless and wordless magic. Draco’s back hit the wall just as Harry grabbed his hands and planted them above his head, holding them down. Draco’s eyes were hooded from desire, Harry pushed his own hips to Draco’s, reveling in the sharp inhale Draco let out as they connected. His surprise is evident in his features. He pressed down onto Draco’s wrist just as he moved his hips the right way and Draco’s back was arching, wanting more, _needing_ more. His cock was inexplicably hard between the two of the,, leaking precome at Harry's ministrations . Harry could feel the pulse from Draco's wrist, thundering away, running a mile an hour. 

With one hand holding Draco's hands up and one trailing down, Harry hooked his hands onto Draco’s silk black pants, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle. Harry bought his hand up and spit in it, wrapping it around Draco’s length. The head shiny and pink, a bud of white on the very tip. Beautiful. Draco writhed against the wall, a snake in a dance. Harry’s hand was moving up and down, squeezing and pulling until Draco was panting loud, his toes curling. Harry's thumb went over the tip, smearing the bud of pearly white, slicking the way when Draco unabashedly moved into Harry's fist.

 _“Harry,”_ said Draco, voice raw. Indicating, saying all without speaking. Harry smiled, leaning in and kissing Draco’s lips with brutal force, tongue seeking entrance and flipped him around. He pushed Draco’s legs apart, brought his hand to the space between Draco’s cheeks and probed the furled muscle with tender fingers. Draco shivered, leaning his entire weight onto the wall. Harry seemed to pause, his fingers dancing over Draco’s hole. He kissed Draco’s back, his shoulder, his neck. Harry’s other hand squeezed Draco’s arse cheek, it was firm and bouncy—delicious enough for Harry to groan to himself as he massaged it. Slapped it once, twice. _"Ah!"_ exclaimed Draco. "F-Fuck," and still Draco leaned into his every touch, begging, silently to be given attention to where he wanted it. 

Harry chuckled darkly, rewarding Draco with a finger. And when Draco pushed into that single digit harshly, Harry snarled, pinning Draco to the wall with his hips. He pressed his erection on to Draco’s side, wet, thick, and hard. Draco was flushed, a bright pink that trailed up from his shoulders to his neck and decorated his cheeks. A thin sheet of sweat was covering him. He looked beautiful, like a painting in action. Completely fucked up and at Harry’s mercy. This is what Harry thought of day and night, someone—Draco needing him so desperately, _wanting_ him, opening himself up to Harry. Harry looked down, watched enthralled as his thick finger pushed into Draco. 

With shaky arms, Draco lifted his hands, pushing his face against the cool white wall to stabilize himself. He reached around, looking at Harry over his shoulder. He pulled his cheeks apart with his hands, opening his stance wider. Offering himself. And Harry, well he didn’t really have a choice. His world narrowed down to this point. He let out a broken moan, withdrew his finger and plunged in with three in total and Draco yelled, scrambled to the wall for purchase. He gasped wildly, trying to let oxygen back into his body but Harry was faster, more skilled. Draco was wet enough, he wasn’t lying. But his own finger could never match Harry, even when he touched himself the days they were apart, it was still Harry anyway. Wet squelching sounds filled the air as Harry scissored his fingers in, pulling and stretching the rim. Draco was loose now, his body slick from the lube he had used on himself before, to make it easier for Harry. The knowledge turned Harry on so much, his vision blacked out for a second. He squeezed the base of his own prick to curb his release. Shaking, Harry hooked his fingers up, hit that spot inside Draco that made him see stars. And Draco, wanton, pliable and open, took it all. 

Harry was whispering nasty things in his ear, Draco could feel his chest against his back, sweat sliding between them. He panted, moaned aloud with every thrust of Harry’s fingers.“Yeah—Fuck, Draco,” said Harry, his voice raw. “ _Look at you_ , honey. You’re swallowing my fingers up.” he grunted, added “Like a slut,” and then his voice was at Draco’s ear. “A slut for me.” He bit at Draco’s ear roughly, enough to make Draco arch into him, “A slut for _me.”_

“Yes!” said Draco, damn near tears now. He was so hard, so wet and open and ready for Harry. “Yours, Harry. _Ah!_ — _Only yours._ ” Harry grunted his approval. “Please—” Draco’s voice was high pitched, broken. “ _Please,_ Harry..”

“Use your words,” said Harry, voice dark and heavy, his fingers massaging Draco's prostate. “I want to hear you say it.” Draco nodded, to lost to consider, too gone to think. He pressed into Harry’s fingers more, so close and yet so far. Draco just wanted him, wanted to be filled with Harry, wanted to wake up and feel it tommorrow. “Fuck me,” he chanted, mind blank. "F—fuck me, Harry.— _Fuck me.”_

Harry withdrew his fingers harshly, turned Draco around, manhandled his body. Draco would never admit it but he loved this, loved it when Harry lost control. Harry’s arms lifted Draco up as if he weighed nothing. His muscles flexing, he held Draco against his chest, their cocks grazing each other, Harry’s gravitating past Draco’s balls automatically. Draco wrapped his pale legs around Harry's back, his ankles crossing themselves. Harry looked at him then, his gaze heated and heavy. Eyes nearly black from the arousal. His hair was wild already, Draco’s heart was in his throat, his hole fluttering from missing Harry’s fingers. Harry’s prick brushed Draco's hole, teasing it and pulling away.

Harry was staring at Draco. Watching, waiting to find something he found. Want, perhaps. Sheer surrender. Longing, too. Then, without warning, Harry crashed his lips with Draco's with teeth and tongue, barely getting the incantation out before he slid in, to the hilt—hard and fast. Draco _howled_ , mouth opening under Harry's, breathing in the same air. His eyes fell closed and he threw his head back until it hit the wall loudly. His muscles fluttered, opening his chanel up for Harry. Barely giving him time to adjust to his length, Harry pulled out all the way and with a groan plunged in, his head pushing itself into the place between Draco’s neck and shoulder. He licked the base of Draco’s throat, reveling in the sounds that left Draco’s lips. He could feel Draco's muscles fluttering around him as he started his long and shallow thrusts. His own mouth left filthy words floating in the air between them. "This tight little hole is mine," he said, barely a whisper. But Draco heard him, "This cunt belongs to me." And somehow, Draco felt himself get wetter, felt himself fall open at Harry's words, the way they made him his. 

Harry licked, he bit frustrated kisses into Draco's neck, his arms, his hips continued pistoning into Draco. Draco’s head was lulling to the side from the pleasure, his jaw slack. He could feel Harry. His hardness, the way he pulsed inside him, the way he contracted around Harry feeling every vein, every ridge. The way Harry was so unforgiving in his thrusts. The way he was so bloody possessive as if Draco hadn't already stamped his soul with Harry's name a billion times over. 

Draco felt like he was lit on fire, like every nerve ending was awake and thrumming, like the sun was in the room with them. The assault of Harry’s lips on his skin, the way he pulled out, waiting for Draco to miss him before diving back in, filling him— driving Draco crazy. He loved this side of Harry, he loved seeing the dark expression in his eyes, loved hearing the tiny moans, the praises Harry left on his body, the way his face went slack when Draco would tell him he was in so deep, that he was big, so big that he was filling Draco to the brim, that he wouldn’t be able to walk for a week. He loved seeing Harry take him, loved seeing him devour his words, loved hearing the sounds of their skin slapping against one another. He was only ever his. 

They played this game and they both lost everytime.

Harry’s hands found Draco’s bare cheeks, kneading them, bringing them apart and closer, again and again, and _again,_ increasing the friction. His arms bracketed Draco and he felt so full, so fucking full of Harry, he was overflowing with this feeling. Draco was touching every inch of Harry he could find, planting soft kisses where he could, showing Harry how much he needed him through this affection. His hips moving in tandem with Harry's thrusts. Harry’s sweat was on him, his lovebites littered Draco's skin, his smell, earthy and rich wrapped itself around Draco. They were connected in all possible ways and Draco was sure his body was singing from it. Draco forgot it all, forgot everything but this, this moment. He moved, lifted himself more before falling down, and Harry adjusted, hit the bundle of nerves inside him just right—enough that Draco yelped, threw himself further into Harry. Harry chucked, a deep and dangerous sound before he began pistoning at Draco’s prostate, swallowing his moans with filthy kisses, his tongue coating and tasting Draco’s. Harry’s pressed his forehead to Draco’s, his arm finding Draco’s bottom and lift onto his moving hips, and Draco gasped, sucked in lungfuls of air as Harry admired his bitten, swollen red lips and pounded into him. Draco arched his back at the harsh thrusts, abandoning all control from the look of fire in Harry’s eyes. It felt like Incendio was flowing over his body. He was taut and tight like a bow, Draco bent himself inwards until their chests touched and Harry still, relentless in his passion, delved in and out like the manic waves at sea until Draco was clutching at him and meeting his thrusts, chanting out _"Don't stop, don't you fucking stop"_ like a prayer. He was scratching Harry's back with his nails, seeing blood on them, and losing it. And Harry roared on, loving the way they marked each other. 

Harry pulled back, looked at the place where they were connected like it was the answers to all his prayers, pistoning away at Draco, rim stretched over Harry’s girth. With a Herculian effort, his hand found Draco's bobbing length and he wrapped it, pumped once, twice. And Draco came with a sob, long and hard, coating their chests in ropes of white. His vision whited out, the muscles in his legs trembling, his arms feeling like they’d fall off. He must've screamed. He felt his throat burn. Then, he knew he did, from the way Harry’s hips faltered. And Harry, he was watching him still, his mouth parted, his eyes shiny and wide from chasing his own release. The green only a ring around a deep, fathomless pool of black. Still sensitive, Draco curled his nimble fingers into Harry's sweaty hair, trembling and comforting the man above him. Draco urged him on with little moans, his hole tight, wrecking with the aftershocks of his release. He spoke to Harry with a small “Yes, _yes.”_ and a “fuck, yes, _right there_ , Harry” until Harry was biting down on Draco’s neck, emptying himself with a groan, saying _"Draco,"_ like he was something sacred and holy. 

They stayed like that for a bit, Draco moving his hand in Harry’a hair, massaging it lightly. And Harry breathing deeply, ragged, trying to reign control back in. Draco touched the back of Harry’s neck and Harry pulled away and out, the two of them falling to the floor. Their bodies smelled like sex and desperation. Draco accio’d his crumpled pack of fags, took one out and Harry lit it without a word with a simple wave of his hand. They knew the routine by now. They shared the cigarette. Draco took a drag, blew the smoke to Harry who captured it with a kiss from his swollen lips, saliva turning their faces wet. It felt seductive, raw, real. Their tongues were coated with the taste of nicotine and each other—sweet and smokey like the two of them. 

And Harry was, Draco realized. Sweet, sickly sweet. Like everything that killed in the end.

When they finally mustered up the strenght, they found their way to Harry’s bed. Later, Harry would have Draco again on all fours. He’d pull him up and back onto him until they looked like one, his hands wrapped around Draco’s throat as he fucked up into him. They’d fuck until both their throats were sore, their voices raspy. Then, Harry would bring them a glass of water, would kiss Draco’s entire body: his feet, his legs, the inside of his thighs, the jut of his hips, his navel, his nipples, his neck— until tears threatened to fall from Draco’s eyes, from how much it felt like lovemaking, like worship, how it felt nothing like the fucking they lied to themselves about. Harry would wipe them tenderly, remorse in his eyes, lips sealed. They knew the routine by now. It didn't mean that it hurt any less. 

Draco would flip them over, forgetting the pain for now, planting open mouthed kisses all over Harry’s tattoos, his scars. Harry would suck and kiss on his Dark Mark, mutter a “I’m so sorry, darling” at the silvery scars that painted Draco’s chest. And Draco would hurt, his heart shaking, twisting, screaming. And somehow, they’d find each other again, in the wee hours of the night. Draco would ride Harry slowly, sinking down inch by inch with a bated breath and small throaty moans. He would take note of everything, from the hitch in Harry’s breath, the possessive way he gripped Draco’s thighs and repeated _“Mine, mine, mine”_ like he couldn’t quite believe it himself. The moonlight would shine down on them and Draco would memorize it all. Tomorrow, he would touch these marks in the mirror, missing Harry on him, he’d feel his eyes sting. He’d chug back whiskey and try to forget about it. But, until then, yes. He would paint this all to memory; from the frenzy in the way Harry would thrust his hips up until Draco was screaming out, eyes rolling to the back of his head. The way he would cry out again inside Draco, the way they’d come down together from the high. He needed these memories, he cherished them. He replayed them after, for days on end. His dreams were filled with these moments; with Harry's lips and those eyes that had the power of bringing Draco to his knees. Harry was the man, the only one worth bowing to. But, they were dreams and everyone knew why people dreamt, what dreams meant— they signaled things you wanted and couldn't have. They signaled habits you couldn't break. And Harry, well, he was one of them. 

* * *

They fell asleep sometime after that, satiated and satisfied. When Draco woke, it was because of the warmth from the sun spilling in through the sheer white curtains covering the windows. He found his hand thrown over Harry’s chest, their legs intertwined under the covers. Harry was sound asleep, his breathing shallow. He looked so very peaceful, face open without the obstruction of his glasses. Draco's heart pulled, yanked at him, constricted itself, and broke from always wanting it, always wanting to wake up next to Harry. He ached. He spilled. He bled. Draco blinked furiously, willed his foolish heart to _be still._ He leaned down to press a kiss to Harry’s chest. The arm under his head moved and when he looked up, Harry was gazing at him. Draco could see his calm, could see the adoration in his eyes that he swore was reflected in his own. 

Harry’s other hand reached out to tuck a stray strand of Draco’s hair away. He mumbled a “Good morning, love” in a quiet voice and Draco couldn’t help but smile. His world shifted, his being twirling and turning itself inside out. He felt like he was bursting at the seams from this love but, he couldn’t say it. Couldn’t speak it—Wouldn’t try. His mouth felt like cotton, tongue heavy. He swallowed, plastered a small smile on his face.

Harry knew, surely he knew by now. In answer, Harry kissed to Draco’s mouth, deeply, before pulling himself up and out of bed. He was walking away to the adjoined bathroom, naked as the day he was born. Draco curled the blanket around himself, closed his eyes just as he heard the sound of the shower turning on. Harry would return to his routine soon, he would go back to his life and so would Draco. _They would have this,_ he thought. _They would have this, forever._

Draco would rather have these weekends for all his life than not have Harry at all.


End file.
